Written and Illustrated By Frank Fessler
“Don’t worry, my pet,” the stunning redhead said to Jasmine, as Jasmine writhed and wriggled in vain. “Don’t like being tied-up, I suppose? I took care to make sure you’d be quite comfy, you know.”
Bitch! Jasmine yelled through the gag, so it came out “MMPHH!”
The redhead merely chuckled. “Jasmine, Jasmine.”
Jasmine’s heart skipped at the sound of her own name. How did this psycho know who she was?
“Always had to get in the last word, didn’t you, pet?”
Her beautiful captor calmly sat on a crate, crossed her perfectly sculpted legs, and picked up a magazine. She casually flipped through her copy of Oprah as if she were in a hair salon waiting her turn, not in a dark, damp storage closet with a girl bound and gagged at her feet.
Well, this bitch, whoever she was, was not gonna enjoy a magazine while she sat gagged and trussed like some kind of animal.
“MMMPH!” Jasmine squealed, making as much noise as the tape over her mouth allowed, “MMMPH! EMMM! MUMPH!”
She stomped her high heels on the ground as she mmphed. Her ankles were bound, melding her legs into one powerful appendage that she pounded on the floor like a club, all in an effort to make as much as noise as possible. She hoped against hope that someone on the other side of the door might hear. If nothing else, she’d make things as unpleasant as she could for the redhead. Damned if she was gonna read a magazine while she sat her all tied up.
Her scarlet-haired captor hurled the hefty magazine at her head, hitting Jamsine square and forcing a grunt from her sealed lips. The beautiful criminal then unfolded her legs and marched towards her. Jasmine meekly slid back, trembling at what this bitch would do next.
The redhead knelt beside her hostage, grabbed a handful of Jasmine’s sandy blond hair, and pulled hard, so hard Jasmine worried she’d yank it out, roots and all. Tears began to well.
That was my nickname in high school. How does she know this stuff?
“I tied you up in a humane way. I can make this ordeal much more painful if you don’t behave yourself. Just sit there like a good little girl while I read Oprah. There’s no point in struggling, I’m a pro who’s tied up men six times as strong as you and they couldn’t get loose either. Just sit tight, little girl. You’re going to have company soon.”
She let go of her handful of Jasmine’s hair, causing the bound young woman to fall back down to the musty floor with muffled grunt. The redhead picked up the Oprah, sat back on the crate and resumed reading whilst her legs were crossed, putting on a sophisticated air that did not quite suit the situation. Jasmine sat on the grimy floor, resigned to her fate. Humiliating as it was to be helplessly bound and gagged, the ropes were not that uncomfortable. White ropes encircled her wrists behind her back and pinned her arms to her sides. Another rope held her ankles together. She was glad she decided to wear nylons after all, they shielded her legs from the rope’s pinch. A rectangle of white tape muffled her cries.
She had on her white strapless, an outfit she wore on first dates, wedding receptions, or any other occasion when she wanted men’s attention. It ended a good four inches above the knees and showed enough cleavage to make men stare and women hiss. She loved the attention she got from both genders. It was her little white dress.
She had worn it today with the hopes of snaring a certain man at the class reunion. But now someone had snared her first, and snared her good. The ropes, while not too tight, were perfectly snug and would not budge. She was going to be stuck in this deep pit of a closet until someone set her free, and it certainly wasn’t going to be this crazy chick.
So far, her 10-year-reunion was going quite badly.
“Don’t like being tied-up, I suppose?”